


A Fine Line

by heli0s



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Light Angst, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 22:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heli0s/pseuds/heli0s
Summary: Steve doesn’t know when the friendship became something more, but now you’re in front of him, dripping with need and the rain has come for you both.





	A Fine Line

Tony quirks an eyebrow over to your spot at the conference table when he walks in. You’re there early, hands over your lap, legs crossed underneath. It’s quite a sight, he thinks, coming from a woman who can hardly be bothered to exit a burning building.

It’s eight-thirty. The fact that you are the first to be in the conference room raises _all_ his red flags. He tugs his lavender glasses up and down his nose bridge just to make sure he’s not hallucinating. The frown he sports stretches lower until it melts into his well-groomed beard.

“Are you… what’s the matter with you? What are you doing here?”

The door swings open and the rest of the team shuffle in, finding their seats, nodding respectively to you and Tony.

“She look normal to you?” Tony mutters to Natasha behind his hand, half trying to conceal it. The asshole side of him isn’t trying very hard at all and you only shrug in response.

The chair behind you clatters slightly with the weight of a heavy body. You turn, nostrils picking up his scent. Oh God. _Steve_.

There he is. Your stomach flips when he shoots Tony a look past your head, mouth tilting in slight disapproval. “Everything okay?” He asks, deep voice vibrating throughout the room. You could fucking _melt_. He is golden and awash in the early morning glow streaming through the blinds.

Tony calls your name and you whip around in your seat, giddy to think of the captain. “Yes?” You reply distractedly.

He grimaces, “Who _are_ you?”

A sudden giggle bursts out of your mouth and you primly cover it with your hands, shocking the room into silence.

“Cap?” Tony calls hesitantly, concern brimming in his voice. “What the hell happened last night?”

Steve digs into his memory of yesterday’s mission, feeling himself grow uneasy when you turn around once more to regard him, a lazy smile growing on your lips.

-

_“Incoming!” You warn, kicking yourself off a corner wall and propelling feet first at Steve. He grunts as his shield comes up to thrust you backwards, allowing you the right amount of force to knock three agents down. Your boot crashes into a quivering hand reaching for a discarded pistol and you lean down to slam your fist into the Hydra agent’s skull._

_“Got ‘im?” Steve asks, rubbing a bit of dirt off his cheek._

_“Aye aye, big guy.” You respond with a wink, saluting stiffly, then leaning over to knock your knuckles against the limp head once more for good measure. Your partner rolls his eyes with a smirk and motions you to follow._

_An alert came up three hours ago that a local weather chopper found a building in Florida emitting a strange energy—halos of yellow and neon green, like a glowstick. You were lounging around with Natasha when FRIDAY delegated the task. She beat you 3-0 in rock paper scissors and you whined like a bitch about it. It wasn’t until you found out Steve was going that you got excited; he’s your favorite teammate when Bucky is away._

_“We’ve cleared more than half of the complex,” Steve informs, “But I don’t see anything.”_

_“Me neither.” You agree before stopping at a steel double-door. “Twenty bucks there’s something big and snarly in here.”_

_Steve flexes his shoulders and steps back. “You know I’m not the betting type.” He easily kicks the door down._

_You’re glad Cap didn’t take you up on that wager because the doors lead to what looks like your grandmother’s back patio if it was sealed off by four concrete walls and sprayed with plant steroids. Right away, the humidity strangles the atmosphere._

_There are palms perched on glass tables and floating shelves. Cracked and dirty porcelain bathtubs are homes to sprawling vines and wide waxy green leaves. A myriad of colorful blossoms bursts through the verdant thicket like Christmas lights—red and orange, intense yellows, cerise pinks. Steve steps over what looks like an oversized ginger root and peers around curiously._

_“Am I missing something here?” He asks before wandering past you, weaving through foliage and ferns. The room is damp like a jungle. The air is sticky like molasses and smells like the kind of wet dirt that gets trapped under your nails and doesn‘t comes off._

_You peer intently at a tiny blushing flower that catches your eye, hibiscus-like and fragrant. There’s something strange about it that makes you tilt your nose forward, leaning until you’re nearly falling into its unfolding petals. It smells like overripe fruit and buttercream—silky, strange._

_Steve is in the middle of calling your name when you fucking sneeze right into the blossom. It sways pathetically before falling apart, bits and pieces drifting silently onto the ground._

_“You okay?” He asks, trotting over warily. “Y-you got…”_

_You swipe at your nose, feeling the pollen tickle your nostrils. Promptly, you sneeze again. “Good fuck! It’s inside me!” You cry, wiping wildly, eyes blinking out the tiny yellow grains. The rich sweet perfume swirls inside of your sinuses, sticking into your lungs. It transmutes in your chest, and suddenly you can smell bedsheets. Warm. Clean._

_Steve peers intently into your reddening eyes. “Let’s get that washed out.” he murmurs. You breathe in again and nod, licking your lips._

_He smells like old book pages. Dusty but comforting._

_Graphite. Ashy. Your mouth goes dry like a desert._

_-_

You smile as he retells the mission, happily nodding along because he does it _so well_. “That’s perfect, Stevie.” You coo when he finishes. “It’s exactly what happened; you did a great job.”

Steve can feel his neck turn pink with embarrassment.

At this point, it’s obvious even to Vision that something is wrong with you. Natasha stands briskly and puts her hand on your shoulder, “Alright,” she mutters, pulling what looks like a q-tip from a nearby drawer, “Open up.”

You squeal as she wipes the cotton on the inside of your cheek. You crinkle your nose when her hand brushes against your lip. The swab leaves a bad taste in your mouth that you’re suddenly desperate to get out. Tony claps his hands together and stands.

“Okay, looney tunes. Let’s get you to bed so we can check this shit out.”

You shrug and get up to leave, ready to be back in the comfort of your cool room. You don’t know why Tony keeps it so damn _hot _in the building.

-

Steve stands ram-rod straight in the lab as Tony analyzes the sample of your cheek tissue. Trilling and beeping pulls his attention to where Tony’s finger spreads out the compound—showing him each element. Or something. Steve doesn’t fucking know.

“What is it?” He asks nervously because the way you mooned over him in the conference room makes him feel a bit dreadful, a bit flattered. The two of you moon over each other all the time, out of jest, but this is strange and new and makes him a little hot under the collar.

“Dopamine—” Tony points to a honeycomb strand, “Adrenaline here— huh, lots of it. And this…” Tony taps on an adjacent screen where your tissue is being magnified. A gummy-like splotch moves slowly. He crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“Well, Rogers.” Tony clicks his tongue, “Better get some towels. She’s about to catch a fever.” 

-

The crotch of your shorts is soaked through. Your body cannot stop shaking as you fumble around the bedroom for something to fix the wrecked state you are in.

Your fingers are ice cold. Your chest is burning. You feel like a human-shaped bag of lava and every step you take away from the bed is dipping yourself in water, killing the warmth. You don’t know which is worse, but it feels like you’re going to die if you don’t find release.

A quiet knock comes from your door and you open it slowly, peeking out into the lit hallway. “Y-yeah?” You mutter.

Steve is standing there, hands wringing in front of him, wet towels slung over his arm. “Hey… you feeling alright?”

Your head feels all fuzzy. Steve doesn’t just smell good anymore, he smells fucking _delicious_.

“Hey…c’mere, Stevie,” You mutter, reaching your arm out. “I gotta tell you something.”

-

He backs up into the wall and you do the same on the opposite end of the room even though all of your nerve endings are screaming to be _on_ him.

“Let’s get you to the med bay.” He utters.

“No.” You reply brusquely, “They’re going to put me in a coma or something. I’m gonna_die_, Rogers. Are you going to let me die?” The enamored spell you had been under this morning has slipped off. You’re back to your normal self, he thinks— except this time the pushiness of your personality comes with a dangerous edge.

It’s desperate and nearly _alive_, the way an animal feels in heat— or perhaps like the thrumming earth before electricity strikes. Steve swallows thickly at how beads of sweat roll down your neck to disappear into the space between your breasts. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of you before— in this way. Kind of. Because he’s a gentleman, he tries not to. But because he’s a man living in close quarters with a woman he’s attracted to— he can’t help it. It’s wrong for _so many _reasons; he wakes up trying to push it away and goes to sleep trying to push it away.

It doesn’t help either that you’re so nonchalant with him. Easy humor. Quick friendship. Always teasing. You call him _My Captain, Big Man, Hercules. _You always ask to join him on a mission— so you can “watch his ass”.

Always with an edge of flirtation that makes him bristle. Neither of you know quite when it happened- when the friendship became more than just friendship. But it’s taken to the air some time ago, hovering like a rain cloud, crackling electricity.

Now you’re in front of him, dripping with need; the rain has come for you both. Your mouth is open and panting— impossibly red and wet. One of your arms wrap around your torso while the other holds you up against the wall. “Will you please do me a solid, big guy?”

“Do wh-what? You’re not—?” Steve stammers as you advance, feeling his pants become tighter with each step you take. The pet name that rolls off your tongue certainly is not helping. As if every cell in your body is attuned to the way he responds— you quickly catch on.

“Cap?” You ask quietly, “Captain…” Steve swallows thickly, presses himself flatter against the wall. “I need you. Won’t you help me, Steve?” Your fingers crawl over the length of his forearm and pull the towels until they _splat_ to the floor.

You call his name softly, tenderly, desperately. He’s on the verge of breaking down. “We shouldn’t– we really…”

“It’s okay… Steve.” And with that, you crash your lips over his, sliding your tongue—sweet and heavy with promise into the space of his mouth. Everything is hot, burning like coals against his skin. Your breath, your lips, your chest and thighs—even the little pads of your fingertips sear right through him.

Steve hisses when your nails dig into his biceps, scratching a pink trail down until you reach his wrists.

He gasps when your face pulls back—when did you hop up into his arms, anyway? The hands you latched onto him have rearranged themselves and him, too. So now his finger lock together underneath your bottom. Your legs are wrapped, and your ankles are hooked behind his back.

You press the heat of your core into his groin, grinding your hips into his. 

When your tongue touches him again, he thinks he might go blind. His eyes flutter open as much as they can, to savor the moment of your face so close to his. Your eyes, shut. Your nose, pink. Your hair, a silky, folded curtain against his chest.

He steps until his calves touch the edge of your bedframe and then tumbles down with you writhing on top. It’s all frantic and blurred, mounting with the sickly aroma of wildflower scents. He realizes, when he catches a mouthful of your neck, it’s seeping out of your flushed, scarlet skin.

“I need you.” You plead, “It’s too much. I- I’m burning up.”

The salted taste of your sweat infects him with fever too, and soon enough he’s burning with you, atoms crackling with lust.

Steve shushes your whines with his lips, crushes himself to you and glides his hand up your spine with determination. “It’s alright, baby.” The name tugs painfully inside of his chest—it shouldn’t be coming out of his mouth, but the way it pours so easily can’t be denied. He’s wanted this for a long time. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

A moan slips forth when he dives into the back of your shirt and tears it off. He wants to hear that noise again. The two of you are entwined like real lovers, pulling apart only to breathe and whisper to each other.

Steve doesn’t bother taking his pants off completely, crumpling them down just below his cock is enough for him to slide in like he was created for you. He tells you as much, as you whimper and cry out beneath him.

“Look at me,” He commands, tilting your face so you see where he’s connected to you. He’s searing hot as he thrusts upwards. “You were made for this.” He’s delirious with it, the poison that flows through the union of your bodies, “You were made for me.”

Like a prayer, he repeats your name.

Inside of that deafening miasma, Steve Rogers is still awake and a part of him knows this is _wrong_. But his cock is throbbing inside of you and every time he pulls out and thrusts back in, your cunt wipes the doubt from his mind.

Your head tips backwards and he catches the base of your skull in one giant hand. “So good,” you praise, “It’s so good, Steve.”

Steve hooks a finger into your mouth and watches the way you suck on it as if you could draw water. It makes him even hotter and he slams into you until your eyes screw shut and you forget how to breathe.

He’s slippery with your essence all the way down to his thighs. And you can’t help but reach the peak over and over and still come back for more. He stretches you open even as he croons lovingly into your ear. He pulls you apart and stitches you back together and the world is tumbling over your mouth when you scream his name.

—

It’s been eighteen hours and the two of you are still awake. Steve is ragged with exhaustion after fucking so much. The fever has been sweat out. You are stunned but lucid again, the soreness between your legs shooting across your entire body. He drips out of your cunt, a puddle of creamy affection and longing.

He can’t bring himself to look at the way you avert your gaze and cover the bruises he’s left on your skin.

“I’m sorry.” You say as you cling onto his chest, hands squeezing his back ardently because it will be the first and last time you do it. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

Because it’s obvious now, to the both of you, how Steve Rogers is irrevocably head over heels in love with a woman he cannot have.

—

Your lover comes home a few days later and tugs you into his arms. “Shit, sweetheart.” He groans, pressing his face to your neck, “I fucking missed you.”

Steve has scrubbed you from his body just as you’ve scrubbed him from the sheets that you and Bucky share.

The first night he’s back, Bucky fucks you with such force that the entire room seems to quiver. He’s telling you how much he hated being away from you, telling you how often he thought about your touch under the stars in Morocco.

On the other side of the wall, Steve lies awake with the rhythmic _thump thump thump _and imagines it’s him instead. You plead and gasp, and he dreams about your voice moaning his name— the secret shared between pulsing bodies.

He shuts his eyes and imagines a world where he doesn’t hate the two people he loves most.

**Author's Note:**

> :^) Just a quick and dirty dub-con fic. Happy Sunday!


End file.
